


The Bill

by Vercios



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Dancer, Debt, Heartbreak, Heavy Drinking, Height Differences, Light BDSM, M/M, Original Character(s), Original Story - Freeform, POV First Person, POV Multiple, Phobias, Poor Life Choices, Smoking, Suicide Attempt, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-05-13
Packaged: 2018-10-20 08:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10659132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vercios/pseuds/Vercios
Summary: Being a heavy drinker and smoker was the least of Niko Petrov's problems. After getting incredibly drunk one night, he stumbles out of the bar and proceeded to vomit all over the suit of one of the cities largest, both physical and monetary status, corporate CEOs. Franz Rosenthral. Vulgar words are exchanged before an envelope arrives at Niko's apartment who now owes three thousand dollars to the man he threw up on. Seemingly ending whatever "normal" life he had as he tries to juggle two low paying jobs, medical bills for his ill father, and rent. His little brother, Dominik, the only one keeping him grounded and determined to pay back the man who has dismantled his lackluster life. But during a heavy rainstorm in the dark early morning hours when Niko's life is almost ended by a car; it's driver decides to take him home to keep anything else from happening to his newfound plaything. For Niko, a spark is ignited. For Franz, how he'll me make him call out his name.





	1. Debt

Carrying a seven year old boy up a few flights of stairs isn't exactly the best of ideas considering that I'm exhausted and lean build, but I'll do anything to keep my little brother asleep or else he'll want to stay up late with me and trust me, he will. So I'm trudging up stairs with a kid on my back and an asshole on my mind. Well not a literal asshole, but you probably already knew that... I'm just going to continue talking about that previous thought.  
    As I'm leaving the bar, I know not exactly the best place to be since I've got a kid brother to take care of and a sickly parent in a hospital to pay for, but whatever. As I'm leaving, I could feel the pressure in my stomach building up and I quickly turned away from the building as I felt the bile rise up my throat. The vomit burned worse on the way out than the alcohol I had drank. When I finished, I looked to see where the vile stuff went because I do like to find my dinner in it. Turns out, it didn't all land on the floor, it splashed down on some rich pricks suit who gave me the whole "This is a 3 thousand dollar Armani suit" spiel and who in their right mind spends that much on a single outfit anyways?!  
    Either way this guy Franz, yeah like the Archduke of Austria-Hungary, wants me to cover the cost of getting a new suit and obviously I told him to blow it out his ass, not my fault he decided go into a bar wearing it. Or was he on the sidewalk and I stumbled out? Probably the latter but still technically not my fault. So the no longer deceased and still insane Austrian-Hungarian Archduke is giving me all this crap and keeping me from stumbling home to sleep an hour or two before I pick up my brother. So I ended up telling him off and to bill me while stumbling away. Next thing I know I have a big fat bill to pay waiting to be paid when I got home. Remind me that I have to go and hit Simon, the bartender, since he probably gave the Archduke my address since he typically calls me a cab after a heavy night of drinking.  
    So I'm 3k right into the can, 3k that I don't exactly have since the money from the two jobs I'm working go directly to cover for my father's medical expenses and are barely enough to pay for the tiny apartment I'm renting. Unless I plan on using the handgun I bought to start knocking over liquor stores. Fuck, I don't know how I'm going to pay back the Archduke without starting a World War. And if you're sick and tired of my history jokes go ahead and bite me. It's the only way I can keep myself from snapping and actually assassinate Franz Ferdinand again.

    Unlocking the apartment door one-handed as I support my little brother, Dominik, and step in without flicking on a light switch, I make my way to the bedroom. With only hitting my thigh on a bedside table, I gently laid him in his bed, removed his shoes, and covered him all without as much as an eye cracking open. That right there takes practice and I'm damn proud of it. Slowly closing his bedroom door I make my way to the living room and kick off my shoes, leaving them in a jumbled mess as I begin to undress and put on sweatpants and pull over a white tee before making my way over the sliding door and step onto the balcony.  
    The cool breeze of the night helps me clear my mind as I pat my pockets for a familiar carton box, another pat and I find my Zippo. I watch the flame with an odd amount of interest after I've lit my cigarette. It's orange glow dancing in the wind as the ported neck kept it from going out. Another minute of this until I snap it shut with an almost comical sound. Continuing to puff away at the nicotine and chemical filter. Drinking and smoking, God I picked up my father's habits. Hopefully my liver will fail before lung cancer kills me, who knows maybe they'll both hit me at the same time and I'll get out of having to pay 3 thousand dollars. I laugh as the ashes fall off the filter and flick the burned out cigarette off the balcony, down the 14 stories.  
    For a moment I think of following it down but shake my head, I've got better shit to think off than suicide at the moment, like how I'm going to pay back Franz Ferdinand for a stupid suit and head back inside the small apartment where I brush my teeth in the sink and swirl mouthwash to get rid off the nicotine taste as best as I can before crashing on the couch.  
  
***  
  
    Waking with another migraine and a pain in my stomach was usual for me considering my habits and after throwing up in the toilet, I gathered my first job's uniform as I checked the clock on the microwave for the time, _4:30 AM_. I've got another half hour before I leave so I can be more than punctual for the restaurant I'm currently employed at. It also gives me an hour to sleep before the owner arrives at six to open up. It dawns on me that I'm going to have to ask Simon if I can work nights at the bar as a third job since being a waiter at two different establishments isn't going to help make enough money to cover bills, my father's medical expenses, and an extra 3k for a suit I’ll never own.  
    Another deep sigh leaves my mouth as I add bread to the toaster and wait around, gathering jelly for my carb filled breakfast. After my fill, I put something together for Dominik and write him a note to read during lunch at school. Sappy, but it's the only time I can say something to during the workweek. With that done I leave the little one bedroom apartment and pound down 14 flights, it's a good source of exercise plus it brings me out of my still sleepy stupor.

    Out the door and into the crisp early morning air I begin my journey to walk to the bus stop take me to the restaurant where I'll start serving breakfast and the first half of lunch. It's long hours but it's one of the few jobs that doesn't require me to break my back like construction or require a better education than high school. If my mother hadn't had died a couple years ago and if my father didn't suddenly fall ill, I'd have a college degree by now and Dominik wouldn't have to live a tiny apartment. But those things did happen and I have to live with that.  
    The sun hadn't risen yet this frigid morning, so what little warmth I had left was sapped away from me. Thank God it doesn't snow here but it gets damned cold. I can feel my nose already changing to a rosy color, the frigid air and wind kicked up by passing cars doesn't do my pale Russian skin any favors either. During my walk, I usually take this time to think about how my day will be going but all I can think about is how I'll pay back Franz. Three thousand dollars is a huge sum of money and my shitty waiting jobs aren't gonna be able to cover that on top of everything. Waiting for my bus gives me time to toss ideas around. Evidently, all of them were bad by the time I stepped onto the bus.  
  
    I arrived as the lights to the restaurant where turned on. Usually I'm the first employee here and it gets me some extra bucks whenever I come in early and God knows I'll be needing all the money I can get. I help bring the chairs down off the tables and start to set up the utensils for each of the tables when the trickle of staff starts. Everything's finished at _6:30_ , giving us some time to kill before we open at _7_. I take this rare free time to go to the bathroom and check on my hungover self and make sure I look at least presentable to the customers of this "fine" establishment. I entered with a fair bit of caution, last time I slipped on some not so pleasant liquids. Once satisfied that I won't be slipping on anything, I checked the mirror, half expecting no reflection.  
    Yet, there was a brunette staring back at me. His hair disheveled as he didn't brush it after throwing up this morning. It ran down my neck and was long enough to obscure my natural eye color of light green and hazel with an apparent hint of blue that had always garnered too much attention. However, it wasn't enough hair to hide my dark bags and the almost bloodshot state of them. It didn't hide the mole underneath my left eye either but I can't complain, I just don't want people staring at me and giving compliments on my eyes and “ _how unique_ ” they were.  
    Leaning forward enough, I could see that my nose was still red from the cold, along with the tips of my ears. Again, my pale, some might even say milky, skin did me no favors when exposed to the frigid winter air or the boiling summer sun. I needed to get closer to the mirror but came to the realization that in doing so, I was on the tips of my toes.  
    Quickly sinking back to hide what I was doing before anyone saw, being 5'6" isn't as fun as some make it to be. In a bout of embarrassment, I try picturing myself like my father: tall, tan, and built like a Russian KV-2. But my delusions of grandeur soon give way to a lanky but lean twenty-six year old. I splash water on face and fix my hair so it looks more presentable but still manages to distort my eyes before stepping back out of the bathroom.  
  
***  
    Serving breakfast is about as mundane as you think it is. There's no shouting in the kitchen, no mad dashes to get the order served, and no pressure. I'm glad I don't do dinner, I'm perfectly content with serving older couples their morning coffee and little kids their pancakes. It is, however, exhausting work that usually leaves my feet aching but it's something I have to put up with since the owner already doesn't like me very much.  
    See, I made a really bad first impression and bad is an understatement. Not to mention I've come in hungover after heavily drinking one night and snapped at a customer. So if I fuck up one more time or even come in late I'm fired. It's why I come in early now, I can't afford to lose this job. Anyways, I'm waiting for our cooks to finish my tables order when I here the two other wait staff, Sasha and Isabel talking about some guy in an expensive suit in Sasha's section. Obviously, being the curious person I am, I eavesdrop.  
    "Did you see what he was wearing?"  
    "Just a glimpse, but he looks important and way to high end to be eating here. Did you get his name?"  
    "No, not yet anyways, hopefully my charm works on him."  
  
    Before I get the opportunity to ask where he's seated, my order is placed in front of me. I need to get back to working my section and serve people their breakfast, with any luck I'll get plenty of tips and maybe even get a glance at this mystery man but I can’t prioritize it. I take the orders back and carry one with the mundane grind. Greeting patrons, waiting for their indecisive decisions, and bringing out their food. Usually leaving behind a few dollars as a tip, never really going past five dollars. I finished serving them and moved on to another table where their check was ready. I needed a better job than this, I’m just scraping by.  
  
***  
  
    I could feel my feet throbbing already as I started to finish up my shift. Breakfast was over and I had just served the first couple hours of lunch. My body was tired and I couldn't wait to plummet on the couch at home. I checked my watch, _3:45 PM_ , I finished my eight hour shift, waved my goodbyes to my coworkers and clocked out with a small sigh. It's a 40 minute bus ride back home so _4:30ish_ is what I'm looking at to be at home. That'll give me two hours to sleep until I have to catch an hour bus ride to my night job that's at 8 o'clock and goes through _3 AM_. Fuck. I shouldn't have worked 8 hours, I'll have no time for sleep tonight, I'll be acting like a zombie during tomorrow's morning shift. Maybe I'll be able to get off early if business is slow. Shit, what day is it? Friday? Shit-fuck! No fucking way I'm getting off early tonight. Whilst also venting my frustrations, I had walked to bus station automatically when I had left the restaurant, much to my surprise when I sat on the bench,  
    "Jesus, I'm surprised I didn't miss the bench." I said aloud as I waited, thankfully not for long and before my ride was even 10 minutes in, I fell asleep.  
  
***  
  
    It wasn't long before my internal clock had woken me up just in time to push the yellow strip by the buses window to tell the driver I'm getting off at the next stop. After almost tripping on the way out, I began my march home, humming a tuneless, tune as I went. I stopped at the local liquor shop to buy a new pack of smokes and another container of lighter fluid before I trudged up several flights of newly cleaned stairs for the first half of the journey upwards before they'd deteriorate into urine soaked pieces of concrete for the better half of the climb up. I hated living here, it's no place for a little kid, but it's the only place I can afford and now with a three thousand dollar debt added to my name I might not be able to pay for this dingy little place anymore. Just my luck to be drunk and vomit on some Austrian Habsburg.  
  
     When I finally reached my apartment, my legs had been burning for the last four flights and it felt like I was walking through thigh deep snow. Stumbling in, I begin to undress. Shoes, socks, apron, essentially my whole uniform for the morning. My clothes strewn about as I rubbed my sore feet. It's quiet in the apartment, Dominik usually stays with his friend for most of the day. I believe he mentioned something about a sleepover. He hardly ever gets to see his big brother but I'm grateful sometimes. I'm always exhausted and close to the edge. I don't need him seeing me like that. He can't see me like that. He needs to know that his big brother is working hard to keep us fed and dad alive. God, he loves him so much. It'll be heartbreaking to see him when he does eventually pass. I sigh and finish stripping down and stop reminiscing about the life I could have had, I set my alarm and crash on my couch until I needed to get redressed for my night job.  
  
***  
  
     The loud wail of the electric alarm that I hate so much woke me from what was basically a nap and not actual sleep. I'm slow to get out of bed as rub my eyes and look outside the window to see how much sunlight left in the day. It's starting to dip behind the tallest skyscrapers of the city, casting a fiery orange glow over everything before darkness cascaded after it. It was time for me to get ready for my night job and to leave another note for Dominik. It always pains me leave these in the morning and night. Believe me, if I could see him off and wish him goodnight I would, but there's no other option at the moment and I doubt there will be for a long time. A short while later I have a dark turtleneck on and some dark pants and head out there. I'm pounding down the stairs until I can feel the impact in my feet.  
  
     By the time I'm waiting at the bus stop it's _7:00 PM._ The sun finished going down about fifteen minutes ago, leaving me in the dim and dirty lighting of street lamps waiting for my ride to work. I have to fight the urge to start dozing off until I'm on board public transportation. It's a dangerous game I play, to sleep on the bus. I could very well miss my stop by either one or by several miles. It's happened to me only once and thankfully my boss understands as it’s happened to him before so he let me off without so much as a warning. I was lucky then and I've played it safe since then, but working a full shift today really threw me off and drained me of whatever reserve energy I had and my two hour nap didn't help replenish it. I only managed to sleep about half an hour of my hour long bus ride, but some sleep is better than no sleep so I have no room to complain. I remained awake, albeit tiredly, and looked for the landmarks that told me when to request my stop.  
  
***  
  
    I arrived to a neon lit nightclub that sported the fashionable title of _"Adam & Eve"_ as the place is a club for straight and gay people so there's both male and female performers alongside provocatively dressed wait staff. I've been granted a special exception from the dress code as I know the current owner from my high school days. After graduation he went to college for crash course in business and hospitality. He found the place, renovated it and within a year it was hottest place to be due to its co-ed theme and openness to anyone. I was thankful to get the job, even if it's the type of place I'd never visit in my free time. But my tenure here hasn't been all bad, I tend to make more in tips than my morning shift thanks to my features and how I act. My coworkers say it's that I have this quirky and innocent appeal that get men and women swooned. There's been the occasional slap or pinch on the ass as I walk by or stand a little too close and within their reach, but I "accidently" spill my severing tray over them when I bring their drinks out. The only time when that got me in a tight spot, Francis or as we call him Frankie, the bouncer, had to intervene. He didn't hit him, just put his hands on his shoulders and squeezed. It pays having a 6'7", 250 pound semi-pro wrestler as your bouncer. I ended up buying him a few round of drinks for saving my ass and he was more than happy to consume them.  
  
    I walked into the building, it was still empty with the exception of the staff. We don't open the doors until _9 O'clock._ That gives us about an hour to make any final preparations and for anyone running late to still make it before it starts to get crazy. I greet Joey, our doorman and Frankie as well when I'm inside. I'm making my way to the break room to drop off what little items I have like keys and my wallet and to take another nap but one of the performers. Jamie, stops me. His whole deal is that he wants me to get on stage and start performing full time. Yes. I've done their routines before but only when they were down someone or I needed some extra cash. But I'm not very keen on the whole idea as I'm thrown into knee length, high heeled boots, fishnets, and a button up that's tied in a knot and sleeves rolled up. It's not the type of outfit I would have picked or ever wear anywhere else, but when the outfit gets cheers you get more money thrown at you and I can't deny that. Or the whistles from both sexes.  
  
    "Niko. I got a proposition," he said with an unpleasant passion in his eyes, "You don't have to get on stage every night. Only certain nights and at a certain time. That way you're not overworked and your fans would come out in droves just to see you even for a brief time." The silver haired young man had stopped talking and waited patiently for my answer which was going to be a vehement rejection of his proposal.  
  
    "Why would I want to do that, Jamie?" I asked, trying hide my current mood.  
    "You're poor."  
    "Wow. Thanks for reminding me of my social status. What's next? Gonna tell me that I'm gay?" I responded with a sarcastic tone.  
    "Wait, you're gay?" he asked with genuine surprise.  
    "No, dickhead. I'm not gay. I'm just being sarcastic since you're clearly bullying me. Lets just get back to the point of me not accepting your idea." Jamie's expression changed from curious to upset in a heartbeat.  
    "You never accept my ideas! You always say no whenever I try and get you to dance. You know how much more money you can make if you do!"  
    Jamie had gotten very passionate about trying to get me to start a brand new career but he just doesn't understand the words 'fuck off'.  
    "Jamison. I'm not a performer and I don't plan on it. Unless I end up losing my first job and I'm on the verge of homelessness then I'll consider  your offer." I probably was a bit too harsh on him but it's the only way he'll listen.  
     "Alright, alright. I understand you don't want to, but my offer stands if you change your mind." His voice was defeated and I could see the excitement leave his eyes.  
    I patted his shoulder and continued to back room, taking a seat once I was there and trying to get at least a few minutes more of that precious sleep.  
  
***  
  
    I'm a few hours into my night shift and the music has already driven me crazy. I don't have the option of listening to music in my free time and I don't buy any, but I can tell you that most  of the music that's played here I hate. It's zany and obnoxious but I guess so is the club and its patrons. I continued on, braving the music and catcallers that would harass me and the other wait staff. I would much rather prefer if they shouted these things at the dancers but that would be asking for too much of them, not to mention that the dancers already get enough shit. So I guess it's our duty to bear the weight with them.  
    On my break, I take a drink or two in the break room because the music is going to drive me insane. I just need something to keep me going for a few more hours. Yes, I know coffee is the probably the better option here but what night club carries coffee? Probably a lot but that's not the point. I like alcohol. A lot. So quit judging me for downing a bottle and a half. I finish it off and let out a satisfying belch before I head back out again into the neon and pop filled club. It's not a seedy place but I still would rather be at home right now with my little brother who spends his time at his friend's house. I shook my head, I need to focus on not spilling drinks on anyone instead of thinking about my personal issues. It wouldn't be too long now, just a few more hours until I can clock out and take the bus home. That would be the only time for me to sleep, on the bus ride.  
  
***  
  
    "FUCK ME!" I shouted as I watched the tail lights for the bus start pulling away. There was no way I could catch up to it and the driver can't see me, there's a large engine in the back blocking me. I leaned on my knees, trying to catch my breath after I attempted to run after the bus. Standing back up, a sigh escaped me as I began to jog to the next stop. I needed to board that one or else I'm not getting to work on time. The frigid air and darkness of the early morning didn't help me either. It just made me twice as miserable as my aching feet throbbed. Taking a seat for the moment, I contemplated if it was worth it to get to the next bus. I'm reminded by Dominik and by my father. I got up and made my way to the next stop, running to make this one on time.


	2. Breakfast and Beer

    It took a great deal of strength to get off the bus when I got home and not fall face first into the pavement but I managed. Now I needed to get up the stairs, change, get back down, and board the next bus to at least not be horrendously late. I needed to try and keep this job until I land a third one. Oh God, a _third_ fucking job. Two is already taxing but _three?_ I don't know about that. I might end up dropping dad from over exertion. I pinched the bridge of my nose as I looked up at what waited before me. Stairs.  
    Walking up those flights to get home was the second hardest thing I've ever done. Not only was I exhausted, the climb made my legs burn and almost give out when I was near a puddle of urine. Thank God for handrails or else I'd be reeking of ammonia and wet with it. After my exhausting climb up I made it to my apartment, ready to pass out on the couch and get some desperately needed sleep, but that will not be the case today. Walking through the doorway and begrudgingly past the couch in the living room, I picked my restaurant uniform off the ground and changed as fast as dead person can without falling over.    
    After I had finished changing, taking the stairs back down wasn't as nearly bad as going up, but I stepped into the slimy, yellow puddle about halfway down. I kept myself from shouting cuss words and carried on down into the "lobby". Checking the clock above the broken elevators I sighed, It was _7:30_ . Missing my bus and almost missing the second all but destroyed my chances of getting to work on time. I have to run to the bus stop if I don't want to be over two hours late. I know for a fact that I'll be at least an hour late if nothing goes wrong. Famous last words never hurt anyone, right? I'm going to regret every saying those words, I just know it.  
  
***  
  
      Well, shit. The bus broke down and it took about half an hour for the new one to arrive and continue on it's route. That added an extra half hour to my hour long bus ride so more than likely I'll be getting there around past _9 O'clock_ instead of _8:30_ like I wanted. I'm too damned tired to be dealing with this crap and there's no way I'm going to sleep on the ride because I'll miss my stop. That's what happens when you utter famous last words, things go wrong and you pay the price. My leg wouldn't stop bouncing as the bus trotted along, I was beyond late by now and there's a high chance I'll be losing half my paycheck or worse, get fired. I keep looking out the windows, searching the landmarks that tell me how close I am to my stop when I see it, a giant statue of a rooster that has been sitting on top a Mexican restaurant since I was a kid. Quickly, I pressed the yellow strip that signaled the bus driver that I wanted to get off at the approaching stop. The moment those doors opened, I bolted. Nothing else matters at this point, I just need to get to work and try and save my job. My exhaustion, momentarily replaced with adrenaline. I swear, I've never run faster than ever before than this point in time. I could a track runner a hard time right now. The only thing slowing me down is the crosswalks, but when it was time to move I got out of there.  
  
***  
  
      By the time I walked through the front doors, I'm pouring sweat, my chest, and my legs are an inferno. I ignored my coworkers, making a beeline for the break room so I can wipe the sweat off and drink something that's not liquor. I have to keep my head down though, I can't let my boss find me like this but if anything he already knows that I wasn't here since I arrived early everyday until now and I didn't call in to tell him I'm sick. I'm late through and through and all I can do is try to make up for lost time. In the break room I can see that the clock reads, _9:47 AM_. There was nothing I could do about it and I finished wiping the sweat off my face and neck.  
   

      My exhaustion and sleep deprivation caught up with me not even hour in. I could feel how heavy my eyelids were becoming as I tried to listen to the customers orders. I already messed up three orders and they had to repeat themselves and I switched orders between tables once. This particular patron had a very monotonous voice as they listed off their tables orders. I needed to fight my to keep my eyelids from completely closing. Shaking my head violently, I could feel their stares boring into me,  
     "Didn't get much sleep last night, babysitting." I said in the hopes of getting them to stop staring. They smiled, one responded but I wasn't paying attention. I just smiled, let them finished their order and left with what little energy my head shaking gave me. I tore off the order from the notepad and waited to receive the last one I placed. In only a short few minutes I was struggling to keep my eyes opened again, with the added bonus of swaying back and forth of course. After placing several of the items for a table of four, mainly drinks a few sandwiches. Trying to lift the tray suddenly felt like lifting a boulder, my arm was weak, but using my free hand I managed to get the tray off the counter. Having to use both hands to support the tray as I walked towards Table 6. I could see a few smiling faces as their food drawed near. The scent of a hearty breakfast: pancakes, eggs, sausage, hash browns, some steaming milk and ice cold water with the ever present dark soda. It was something anyone would look forward to eating in the morning.   
     Arriving at the table, I can feel my eyelids closing as I started to place down one drink and then the second one when I started to feel the tray teetering off to one side as it became off balanced and then suddenly everything went black. Only a few short seconds, but that's all that was needed to send my body crashing down into the table, the pain immediately brought me back but it was too late. I collided with the edge of the table, flipping it over in the process. Thank God the heavy, wooden table didn't crush my hand, I would have preferred it to crush my skull instead but neither happened. Instead, a flurry of food, utensils, and other items rained upon me. It hadn't occurred to me until I was on the ground that I was wet with these peoples drinks. I could feel the dark soda already drying in certain areas and making everything sticky. I tried to get up and ended up slipping on a pancake and driving a fork through my left hand as I tried to break my fall. I kept myself from howling in pain, as much as I wanted to, and lifted my hand to see the damage. Luckily, the fork didn't stay in my hand and only stabbed me and left several small, bleeding wounds. I attempted to lift myself off the ground again and didn't slip on food again with chunks of egg falling from my clothes. Clutching my hand, I looked around only to meet stares, each one with a different emotion but all were ostracizing. Alone once more in this cruel and empty world I did what I only knew what to do. I ran out of there as fast as I could, the booming voice of my boss shouting after me,  
  
    "YOU'RE FIRED!" echoed before it was abruptly cut off from the doors closing.  
  
    I didn't stop running until I was out of breath and was as far away as possible. I checked my hand to see how far the fork went. Four, evenly spaced and equally sized holes were in the center of my left palm. Blood streamed down so I had some nasty puncture wounds with the pain catching up to me as the adrenaline wore off. Running my fingers through my hair, quickly regretting the decision as syrup had fallen into it. Leaving me with sticky, sweet smelling hair, clothes drenched in soda with eggs sprinkled about me. With my morning shift now over indefinitely and bleeding hand in tow, I made my way to the only real home I had. The bar.  
  
***  
  
    The scent of snuffed out cigarettes and vomit emanated from _The Hangman_ , the local dive that I frequent so often it's become a second home. Using my shoulder to push open the swinging doors as my hand had suffered enough already. It was still the morning hours so the bar was deserted with the odd person dotted here and there, but there was no more than five people, myself and the bartender included. I seated my ragged self at the middle stool and laying my head on the wooden counter. The bartenders footsteps drawing near,  
    "You're off from work early. Rough day?" he asked.  
    "Can't you at least act somewhat concerned for your friend, Simon?" I replied, tilting my head to one side but still facing away.  
    "I can, but you don't seem to be bleeding or have any broken bones. Just look like a breakfast buffet." I didn't have to look at him but I could tell he was smiling.  
    I raised my hand to his face, "Actually, I am bleeding. Wanna pour some vodka on it since the stuff is 40% alcohol. Have to prevent infection, ya know?" Lifting my hand in the air reinvigorated the blood flow and I can feel the warm liquid run down my hand and arm. I knew Simon was squeamish about blood and hearing him squeal brought me great joy in my shitty day.  
    "I'm going to gag." he turned away so he didn't have to look. "I'll get the first aid kit.  
    "You're a doll. Get me a drink while at it, too."  
  
***  
  
    My hand still throbbed but there's reasonably snug gauze wrapped around my hand now so that's a good thing, but not as good as the liquor I poured down my throat which helped manage the pain. I'm a three shots in when I finally say another word to Simon that wasn't "Fuck" or "Cocksucker".  
    "I got fired." I said before raising the small glass. "And all I got out of that job was a stab wound and a breakfast platter splattered all over me. I have syrup in my hair, Simon."  
    "I could tell from the sweet scent when I wrapped your hand. And your hair clumped up so it looks like you used some real shitty hair gel. If there was a shower here, I'd let you use it." his voice filled with genuine sympathy. I just nodded my thanks and ordered another drink. It may be 12:37 PM but its five o'clock somewhere in this big, clandestine world.   
    I brought the edge of the glass to my lips when I noticed Simon continued to stare at me. He had big, brown eyes like a puppy. You didn't need to ask him how he was feeling, his eyes always showed how he was feeling. And now they were concerned. With what I don't know, I didn't ask as the dark haired, six foot-one man watched me finish my drink.  
  
    Simon cut me off after an hour of drinking, he didn't want me to black out in his bar. And it'll be bad if I showed up to work at Adam & Eve drunk. But there's certainly no policy of arriving half drunk and then drinking some more once I'm there. I managed to stand without falling over.  
    "Alright, I'd like a Budweiser to go please. I'm gonna walk to the club and finish getting drunk there."  
    Simon's face had a disapproving expression, but he produced the bottle and plastic bag that had "Thank You" printed in red multiple times.  
    "Don't get murdered on the way there, please. I would hate to have my favorite customer end up face down in a dirty alleyway."  
    I snorted, "You just want me to stay alive because I owe you fucking 500 dollars because all I order in the afternoon is craft beer and like three types of liquor during the night. Now I owe you another 30 for today's drinks."  
    "You should really carry you wallet with you since you could have paid off the 30 dollar tab."  
    "I got robbed for 200 and my watch last time and unless you trust passed out drunk in booth three to hold the fort while you drive me, I'll be fine."  
    "What about your fancy bike?" he asked in a desperate attempt to keep me here.  
    "My 300 dollar bike? That got stolen two months ago and now I carry exact change for the bus." I explained while getting off the stool, "I'll be safe, Simon. I'm not a stumbling drunk."  
    Simon crossed his arms, "Not yet you're not."

***

  The alcohol in my system ran its course through my liver and the bottle I had didn't do much to affect me as I walked several miles across town. It takes a couple hours, but by then I won't have any effects of my earlier drinking binge. One plus of drinking earlier is that it woke it me up when it burned my throat on the way down but one thing it didn't do was clean my clothes and bathe me. So my walk is much more miserable than it normally would've been. The sweet, sugary scent of the syrup still clung to my hair and was still gross to touch. I adjusted to the sticky feeling of my skin as well from the dark soda that drenched me. My shirt was stained though, not that I would be using anymore, but this was a nice shirt. At least the scrambled eggs have fallen off me, so I don't look completely homeless now.   
    A breeze brushed by me, making me shiver and look up. The sky was still blue but there is some rather scary looking clouds moving with the winds. Doesn't seem like they'll move fast enough to ruin my day with rain though, the winds are barely kicking up dust to move heavy set clouds in a timely manner. I rubbed my arms, the wind is still cold, and that just adds more to my misery. I felt goosebumps rise out of my arms as I walked, I always traveled without a jacket but I've regretted that decision plenty.

    Sticking my hands in my pockets, I felt the familiar carton box and cold metal body of my lighter. I shrugged and took both out, using my mouth to take the cigarette out of it's confines. I shielded the lighter though it was designed to be wind resistant. The satisfying sound of the spark lighting the flame is something I'll never get over and once lit, I took a long drag. The nicotine brought down to my lungs along with other chemicals. After this morning, I could use a smoke, or two.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 4/20 my dudes. Don't do any of the devils lettuce and I hope you marginally enjoyed this. I'm going to try and update somewhat regularly without just spamming with poor quality writing, not that my writing itself is good. Hope you enjoyed though.


	3. Dirty Dancing

    I walked through the doors of my now only job close to five and took a seat at the empty bar, listening to the sound checks and watching other staff go about the daily preparations for the night. It's Saturday which means it's gonna be really fucking busy. I'll have my work cut out for me, I usually do but I still have yet to get any sleep what so ever and I don't really want to repeat what happened this morning except this time with rowdy drunks instead of a nice family of four.  
    A sigh leaves my mouth as I order a drink from the bartender that I didn't know. If there's alcohol around, it's going to end up going down my throat so I can tolerate most environments that I find unappealing much like this one. I finish off my first glass and start on my second when my least favorite coworker takes a seat next to me, he hasn't said a word but my grip on the glass tightened. He waits, not staring at me but at the stage while I drink, which I can't complain about since he's quiet for once. The dancers started to come out now, taking the stage and music started playing, not overly loud either. They started going through the group routines. I never saw them practice since I usually got here an hour before opening and by then, the dancers know what they're doing so this was a rarity to behold.  
    "Hey Niko." Jamie said. I ignored him. "Hey, poor man." he tried again, insulting me this time. I heard him sigh, "Tsar Nicholas II, of Russia."  
    I turned to him and his stupid amount of piercings. I'm not kidding either. His nose, both ears, eyebrow, lip and there's probably more in places I don't want to know. At least his two-toned hair of I assume chestnut and black covered the ones in his ears when he didn't have it pulled back. However, he liked to show off his undercut so it was almost _always_ pulled back.   
    "I'm surprised you know who that is. I assume you know what happened to the Tsar and his family then?" I could see his expression change from confident to worrisome. "When the October Revolution happened, the Bolsheviks captured Tsar Nicholas and his family. They didn't execute him immediately, instead they moved him from place to place before one day they came into the room and asked him and his family to get ready for a photograph and to come down to the basement when they were ready. They did take the photograph, afterwards they executed him, his wife, and children by gunshot, stabbing, and clubbing to death before burning their corpses, drenching them in acid and dumping the bodies in a mineshaft but it wasn't deep enough so they moved them somewhere else and buried them in a shallow grave, dousing them in acid once more." I could see in Jamie's face, specifically his golden eyes that showed he was a little sick from how brutal the execution was. It made me smile.  
    "Your home country is fucked, but that's not what I wanted to talk about." he said, calling the bartender over, "I want to offer you something Niko Petrov. Something you love that you'll do anything for." he had a look of excitement about him, like he knew he was going to get what he wanted.  
    "And what exactly would that be, Jamison Miller?"  
    "Alcohol."  
    "You have my attention."  
    "You're such a slut for alcohol, Niko." he smiled afterwards and turned to the bartender, whispering something to him before turning back to me. "I will buy a 160 dollar bottle of Grey Goose Magnum."  
    I couldn't help but let out a whistle at what was being offered. Before I could even reply, the bottle was produced from behind the bar and now sat between Jamie and myself. It was so close I reached my hand out to it, but it’s smacked away.  
    "No. If you want it, all you have to do is get up on stage right now and do a routine." he said as I nursed my uninjured hand from his smack.  His smile didn't fade when I fought with myself whether I should take this offer. "I'll let you pick the routine you want, you can even do your own to your own song." Is what he added to the already tempting offer. I could feel my resolve to refuse Jamie's offer giving way and extended my arm to him,  
     "I blame my alcoholism." I mutter as we shake hands. "Tell them to put on DTF by Adore Delano." I make my way to the stage as Jamie shouts that I can't be straight anymore after I dance to DTF. I flipped him off and took one of the individual stages that obviously included a shiny steel pole in the middle. Climbing the stairs as the song started, I planned something out in my head, waiting for my cue.

    The first few beats were always easy; they were slow and consistent with their timing. Something simple like a few body rolls fit rather well. My hands felt myself up as I slowly rocked myself down to my knees as the chorus played. For the second verse, I rose as slowly as I could to my feet again, making sure to sway my hips in a suggestive manner. My finger tips never left my body, and I had to stifle an awkward expression whenever they’d caress a sensitive spot. Soon, my hands tangled themselves in my hair as I made a few more body rolls. I made sure to make lewd faces for the people in front to see. The second the line “Got that bomb dick, not a total waste,” was sung, I was on my hands and knees, crawling towards a rather good-looking young man standing nearby, probably a new technician. My hips were positioned high in the air, and I wiggled them for full effect. I could see the blush on the man’s face as I rose again to my knees, legs parted. My hands grabbed fistfuls of my hair once more as I thrusted my hips ever so slightly to the rhythm. The short instrumental part of the song was over, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy about that. The last chorus started as I got to my feet. Squatting down with my arms outstretched, I did my best attempt at twerking that I could ever achieve. Sure, it was more of popping my hips than actually moving my glutes, as Jamie later said, but hell if that’s going to discourage me.

    The song is over now and I'm sweating like a whore in church. My chest is heaving as my lungs try and refill my body with oxygen. I haven’t danced in a solid couple of months, let alone this intensely and all for what? A crowd of mildly interested employees, a flustered sound tech, and a big, expensive bottle of vodka which in it’s own way will help cut down on my alcohol expenses. I descended from the stage, sweat dripping from my nose and sat back down next to Jamie who had the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen.

    “You looked like you had fun up there. With your ever present provocative moves that clearly affected our newest employee. Poor guy looks like he has a nosebleed now. How comical.”

    “Just shut up and give me my only true love in this world.”

    Jamie laughed, “I am a man of my word. It’s yours Niko, just don’t go on a binge and get alcohol poisoning.”

    “No promises are made.”

***

    The club was an hour from opening and I still had on my morning uniform. I didn’t stop at home to change, going to the bar instead. So now I had to find something to wear in the dressing room. Hopefully spare uniforms are kept back here and not just costumes for the dancers and the wait staff. But knowing that Jamie runs everything back here the chances of finding anything decent are next to none. I heard the door open as I was digging through a bin of extra items. I thought it was just another dancer making sure everything they had was perfect but then I felt hands touch my sides and move down. Obviously, I freak out, turning towards them and tripping into the bin with a resounding thud. Laughter followed suit as I move the clothing off me to see Jamie, clutching his sides.

    “I fucking hate you so much Jamie. I want you to know that.” I growled, “Now help me out of this.”

    Jamie had stopped laughing when I told him to help me up, but his smile was still there on his punchable face.

    “You’re the quartermaster here, are there any spare uniforms back here? I’ve been stuck in this disgusting thing since the morning.” As much as I didn't like him, he was the only one I trust t find me something but I could tell by the look in his eyes that I was going to regret asking.

    “Yeah, we should have a few hanging around. Just get undressed while I look for it.” He turned away and disappeared behind several racks of clothing and costumes.  

    My face heated up, get undressed here?! Yes, I know it’s a _dressing room,_ but having to be in nothing but my underwear in front of Jamie of all people. As I argue with myself, I can hear Jamie shout while behind the racks. “By the time i get back there, you better be undressed or else I’m doing it myself and trust me Niko. The only time I should ever undress another man is if I'm going to have sex with him.” I didn’t know if he was serious or not about doing it himself, but I didn’t wait to find out. When he came back, I was in nothing but my black briefs with an arm across my chest and holding onto my shoulder. I’m embarrassed obviously. I hate having to take my clothes off, especially if there’s someone around. Out there, on stage, it’s even worse when people want it all off but, I’ve made more money that way which is always a plus since I’m a waiter at now one place. Jamie has something black and white in his arms, I can’t exactly tell what it is, but I can safely assume that it’s my loaner uniform.

    “You’re in luck, I found one left behind by a former employee, guess they didn’t want the reminder.” he said and handed it to me, clearly trying not to laugh.

    “Are you sure you didn’t grab another costume when you got this? There’s an awful amount of fabric here.” I asked, concerned if I dropped anything made with satin. Jamie’s response was to laugh at my question which is rather disconcerting, but I unfolded the clothes to be greeted with a maid outfit. A _French_ maid outfit. I looked up at him only to be greeted by a pair of white thigh highs in one hand and black low heeled Mary Jane’s.

    “First of all. This is not the uniform I asked for. Second. I can’t wear those.” I had a scowl on my face as I spoke.

    “Well, you didn’t specifically ask if we had any regular uniforms. Just if we had a _spare_. Also, I know for a fact your shoe size in women's. Who do you think picked out your outfit for performing? Not to mention I’ve seen you dance in boots with a higher heel. So shut up and get dressed unless you want to serve them drinks wearing clothes covered in breakfast.” His voice was unwavering and I had no choice if I wanted to make any money. I bit my lip and turned around to put this stupid thing on. As much as I hated to do this, I needed the money now more than ever. I needed Jamie’s help to zip up the back of uniform, my face heating for the countless time tonight. I sat down to put on the thigh highs and shoes and before I stood up he handed me a headband, earning another groan from me. After everything was done, I noticed it fit surprisingly well which means I won’t have to constantly adjust it throughout the night with the only the footwear to gripe about. I looked back at Jamie and only just noticed how he had changed from his typical self. Now his well toned and evenly tanned skin was on display along with his very thick thighs. Working the pole with just his legs is the main reason why they're like that. He could choke the life out of someone with just his thighs.   
    Speaking of noticing things, Jamie added highlight to his obvious cheek bones, well at least I think that's he added. I don't know types of makeup besides the basics. Like whatever you use for your eyebrows which Jamie used, just like on his cheek bones, only to make the thick brows more noticeable. They weren't bushy, but thick and well kept. Interestingly, as big as hos eyebrows were and how prominent his cheek bones are, his nose is thin. And if noticing all that makes a little gay then so be it.

    With all this talk about makeup, that made me ask, “Are you gonna throw makeup on me too?” I asked, unsure if he really would.

    “No, you’re not a queen nor are you trying to pass as a woman. You’ll be fine, you’re already feminine to begin with. You'll be the exhibitionist.” Jamie smiled but his reply did nothing to help with my self esteem issues.

***

It’s been a few hours into the shift and my feet started aching about an hour into this. I will never understand how women can wear anything with a heel for more than hour, let alone all day. They deserve a medal. However, this outfit has been getting me way more tips than I’ve ever gotten when I’m dressed regularly. I’ve also gotten more catcalls than I’m used to and a little too many grabs. My trick of “spilling” drinks can’t be used either as I’m still too uncoordinated to attempt that after what happened this morning. My left hand started to ache too, those puncture wounds don’t very much appreciate the constant opening and closing of my left hand. The pain of both my hand and feet have prompted me to order a beer or two while I waited on the drinks for the tables to be made. Jamie can’t chew me out for doing this since he’s going to be on stage for another half hour so I’m definitely taking advantage of this opportunity to numb some of the aches and uncomfortable throbbing. I’m not getting drunk though, a little tipsy at the most because I can’t afford to lose this job. Plus, it makes for a good pick-me-up so I can keep working on only a handful of hours of sleep out of the past _72 hours_. I’m about to order a third beer when the bartender finished with my drink order. I huffed, if Simon worked here, the drinks would have been much faster than our resident cheetah here can manage. I said a small thanks before resuming my duties and began the rounds again. Preparing for more hands and dollars.

***

    I seated myself in the break room after another hour, removing the shoes so I can massage my feet. As I’m doing so Jamie walks in, carrying a bottle of water in one hand and a bottle of Jägermeister in the other.

    “What did you think of my new set?” he asked quizzically as he took a seat, placing the alcoholic beverage on the table and took a swig of his water as he awaited my response.  

    “I wasn't exactly paying attention but from what I saw you, you're new stuff was pretty good. Looks like you picked up a few things from what I did before we opened.” He nodded, I was right with my assumption. We always borrowed moves from each other.

    “You're still looking cute after a couple hours of.” he said in a matter-of-fact way.

    My face heated up once more but quickly, it turned into a scowl. "I. Am. Not. Cute,” it pisses me off when he does this, “I’m not anything but just someone to glance at, not ogle over.” I said in my defense. Jamie just laughed to himself as if I had something funny. He sighed with a smile and picked up the Jäger, opening it in the process.

    “Want some?” He didn’t bother waiting for my reply and poured me some in one of the plastic cups that were in the break room. “I’m not sure if it’s what you like, but knowing you as long as it’s alcohol you’ll drink it.” Another soft laugh escaped him. I laughed along too, albeit slightly offended by his assumption. His joke eased the tension that suddenly popped up.

    “How rude, but you’re not wrong. I do have my preferences though, so feel free to ask because Jäger is not exactly the poison of choice for me. It starts to affect me much too quickly.”

    It didn’t stop me from downing the shot he poured out though. The burning sensation certainly woke me up if the dance music didn’t already. The warm feeling in my belly filled the emptiness that started to give me hunger pangs after only filling it with alcohol and a piece of bread that’s a fleeting memory now. My thoughts of hunger only made the pangs worse and when I placed the cup down to see if anyone left something to eat out, Jamie filled it to the shot line once more.

    “Might as well drink up, you’ll need it for the rest of the shift. It’s about that time where the ‘other’ people start coming in.” Jamie said, almost apologetically.

    What he meant by the ‘others’ is the college aged guys, up and coming athletes like football players and the wrestlers. Usually hailing from the several universities in and around the city, one which I attended before I had to drop out for family reasons to put it lightly. With several unsavory characters whom I didn’t get along with occasionally come here to not only drink but get rowdy in the processes. I can deal with the occasional grab when I'm serving drinks but these people are just the bottom of the barrel when it comes to being _tolerant._ The usual slurs would always come from them and they act _surprised_ that this club has both male and female performers. I feel bad for Frankie when these people show up, there’s only so much ass a man that size can kick. So with that in mind, I drank and Jamie refilled.

 

    Jamie’s voice echoed through my ears, I think he asked if I was drunk and something, I assume was his hand waved in front of my eyes. I had to blink hard several times to realize where I was and what I had been doing. I opened my mouth to speak but a burp came out instead.

    “Not yet. I am buzzed though I think.” I looked into the cup to see there was still Jäger left in it, a shrug rose and I downed it. I tried to listen Jamie explain how I zoned out and just stared at the wall but I’m more concerned with why I was dressed like a maid and not out on stage if I had agreed to wear this. If I’m going to get dressed for the extra cash, I need to actually be out there.

    “Jamie,” I stated, “When am I going up?” I asked him, he’s the one who sorts out the order, “And am I going out in this or my usual outfit?” I noticed a small smile on his face as I asked.

    “Your usual, that outfit you have on will make you sweat and probably limit what you can do.” he responded and got up, “Head to the dressing room while I find what you’ll be needing.” Jamie motioned for me to stand up. I wobbled a bit, but I managed.

    The muffled music is still audible, even in the dressing room, this time now occupied with the other performers. Men and women, all with varying outfits and sets. Jamie knew them all by name and how their lives were. I always felt out of place when they were here. Ostracized so to speak. These people work there asses off every night and here I am, the fan favorite because I’m seen as the “innocent one” and get more cheers. Not to mention Jamie gives me a lot of attention while he’s hard on them. So I don't exactly feel welcomed while the ringleader of all this is off looking for an outfit for me. I’m grateful for the heavy buzz I’m currently on or I might have cracked before my savior came back with the familiar clothes.

    “Sorry for the wait, with everyone coming back, the racks and bins are a real mess right now. You know where the fitting rooms are, go change.” his voice changed from the light hearted tone he always used with me to his director tone. Forceful and assertive.

   “Jamie.” I said to get his attention.

   “Yes, Niko?”

   “I want Power and Control to play for me.”

   His smile came back and he nodded.

   I finished changing into familiar outfit. The button up with rolled sleeves and then tied so it shows of my stomach and part of my chest. The fishnets and the black, thigh high boots were the staple of this outfit though. I’m surprisingly adept at walking in these which makes sense considering I’ve danced in these. I followed Jamie to the door that lead to the main stage. He opened it for me and I went into the backstage area, sound of the music and people shouting deafening. The red curtain keeping me hidden from everyone. I nodded my head, psyching myself up while I waited for Jamie to announce my name and for the music to start. I closed my eyes. Jamie’s voice ringing out.

   “NIKO PETROV! THE RUSSIAN QUEEN!”

   It made me laugh whenever he uses that title, but I can’t keep my adoring fans waiting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short update, been busy with school but hope you enjoy. I'd include the second dance but my co-author has been extremely busy so next chapter will feature that fun business.


	4. Fateful Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. School is winding down and I've been trying to keep up with all the work. This one is a bit of a long one, so I hope it compensates for something. Enjoy.

     Stepping onto the stage, swaying my hips to add a little flare to the introduction, I wrapped my leg around the center pole and waited for the beginning of the song. The music started up and all eyes were on me. I closed my eyes and leaned my head back, running a hand down my chest like I have done so many times before. I began to grind on the pole that had been, thankfully, cleaned before I began the performance and the crowd had started to whistle and cheer. Batting my eyelashes playfully at the people in the front row, I slowly swung around the pole before turning away from it and sliding my backside to it making my ass look a lot " _fuller_ ". I played with the button up I had on, running my hands underneath it to arouse the crowd. I was being very provocative for the first time in a while. Several months at most. I didn't let that stop me though and carried in with performance. I rose from the crouching position I was in and started to swing my hips back and forth, lifting my arms above my head as I did so, the mini skirt fluttering with each swing. I started to rotate my whole body, on step at a time, keeping my hips moving and sensual smile on my lips. I did a full rotation and started to rotate my hips in a circle, keeping the rest of my body still. It took a shit ton of practice to learn but now it gets everyone to keep looking at me. I made sure to keep my arms up and played with my hair. The crowd was loving it, all the hip movements and rotations. I finished with my hips and approached the pole once more, earning several wolf whistles in doing so.  
    

I wrapped one leg around it and held onto with one hand. Just a simple spin around to get warmed up before trying anything serious. I held onto the pole, looked towards the crowd, the tension so thick you can feel it like it was a hundred pound weight. I kept a hand on the pole and started to walk around it, making the crowd wait even longer for what they wanted. Finally, I lifted myself, throwing my body weight into spin so the momentum carried me around. I hooked my legs around it before landing and sank down to a crouch, shifting my weight to one leg and then the other as a way to shake my ass before rising back up and twirling around the pole without letting it go, switching hands in order to do so. I jumped up again, this time only hooking one leg and spinning around with the other extended all the way. I landed and arched my back downwards, leg stretched to the sky and stood up after holding it for a few seconds. I continued with my walks around the pole before trying something very daring. Placing both hands on the steel pole, I jumped up, pulling myself further up until I was at least several feet off the ground. Wrapping my legs around the pole, I went upside down, my legs the only things keeping me from crashing down in my head. Now upside down, I used my hands to play with my hair some more and make lewd faces to the men in the crowd. Once I had my fill of that, I reached underneath my head and held tightly on as I brought my "upper half" back down over me and on to the ground. Arching my back once more and stepping much closer to the pole. I started to grind on it and lower myself to another crouch as I do so. The crowd was _very_ enthusiastic about that. As I came up, I did something that is rather disgusting but I licked the pole, getting the loudest cheer all night. It was unsanitary but they do clean these after every dancer, even if they didn't use it. As I neared standing fully again, I kicked my leg upwards, almost vertical and used one hand to pull it close. A standing split, that made loud crowd go even wilder and the  _louder_ the crowd, the more _money_ they'll throw at me. And boy did they throw it.

***

    Fuck me. Fuck me like a dirty whore. It’s fucking _POURING RAIN!_ I can’t catch anything remotely related to a break. After getting fired from one job, suffering an injury, getting buzzed and dancing on stage because the alcohol made me ballsy it just _has_ to rain on my long walk home. And the only thing I carry in my wallet is my I.D., a punch card to a frozen yogurt shop, the number for the mom of Dominik’s friend, and a picture of my family before all this shit. _Shit!_ I forgot to check up on Dom! I know he’s just been having a sleepover since he got Friday off from school, but I haven’t checked in at all for the past three days and I obviously can’t do it now. It’s three in the goddamned morning. Not to mention I don’t own a cell phone. Goddamit! This pisses me off. I have no idea of knowing if Dominik has been home alone for two days or if he’s been staying with his friend. And all I have for my negligence is a big, expensive bottle of Grey Goose. At first, I was excited at the prospect of owning this, but the prospect of carrying this all the way home in the pouring rain isn’t fun. Jesus Christ, the only positive thing about this night was the amount I made tonight. They didn't let me _walk home_ with it as it was rather dangerous. Frankie locked it up in one of the strong boxes and said he'll take it over tomorrow. Nice guy, but it doesn't currently help my wet and cold situation.

 

    I’m forty minutes into my walk home and the rain hasn’t let up. My clothes are soaked and I can feel myself shivering underneath the stained and now completely wet clothes. At least breakfast items are stuck to them. My hair doesn’t smell of syrup nor is it sticky. My scalp still is but that’s the only good thing about this walk. I’m vaguely clean. I just need some shampoo and conditioner, then I can call this a shower. Roughly ten minutes later my shoes finally gave way the storm, water absorbed into them and thus my socks. Every piece of clothing I wore is now utterly soaked, making my life all the more miserable.

    My walk goes on, my shivering getting worse as I’m now past an hour in this storm. Winds started to kick up so that makes this even-

    A sudden torrent of water hits me from behind, dousing me in whatever fluids line the gutters on the street. It takes all of my willpower not to throw an enraged fit. I can’t see the car since I’m trying to wipe away contaminants, but I can hear it speeding away. I can’t see into the dark street but now I know there’s definite flooding. I can feel the slick oil and dirty water on my skin as I walk. It just adds more to my misery as I found the crosswalk button. Absently, I kept pushing the button, not really in reality as my mind wonders with only the storm and the sound of raindrops pounding into the city to keep me company. I started to cross the street, I don’t even know if the signal changed for me to do so as it was not only dark and raining but misty as well. The only thing that felt real to me at the moment is the vodka in my arms while my mind brought up -

_Her._

    My hands tightened around the bottle and my jaw clenched tightly. I didn’t even know I stopped in the middle of the crosswalk until I turned my head to face down the headlights of car that was _too_ close. It was _too_ close for me to get out of the way. My body froze. As much as I wanted to die, this was too painful yet I couldn’t move and kept my eyes fixed on the car as those precious few feet were eaten away. It’s breaks screeching as the tires tried to grip onto the flooded street.

   

_I’m sorry Dominik._

***

          The glass bottle shattered as I fell onto my ass as I stared down the grill of the car that was mere inches from turning me into a mangled corpse. My chest was pounding so fast I felt like a heart attack will take my life instead. I didn’t move from my seated position, the rain just pounding down while I remained still. I wasn’t sure if I was dead and just living in a the last few seconds of my life or that I had somehow survived and I’m just hallucinating while I’m the hospital.

    I felt something warm wrap around me and then I didn’t feel the ground underneath me. I snapped out of my daze and tried to get down but I was already well above the ground and my kidnapper had an iron grip. They put me in the car, buckled me in, and went around to get back in the driver seat.

    “My Grey Goose…” I quietly murmured, more distraught at it’s loss than my near death, “I didn’t even get to taste it.” I banged my head on the window, ignoring the person who has taken me. Repeatedly striking my forehead into the glass.

    “Are you trying to give yourself brain damage?” the voice was obviously male but with the hint of an accent, German maybe but it’s light so Austrian is possibility. I continued to bang my head on the window, leaving an ugly smudge on it. I didn’t notice the seat was hot until I felt the ungodly amount of heat emanating from it.

    “Are you trying to roast me?!” I turned to him as I shouted. Even in a seated position, I could tell right away that he’s tall. Well above me that’s for sure. I couldn’t get a good look at his face though.       

  “Yes, that’s _exactly_ I’m trying to do. Not try and heat you up so hypothermia or pneumonia don’t set in. You were out in this storm for what I can only assume almost two hours without as much as jacket and just by lifting you, you don’t weigh much. Are you trying to _die?”_ he asked, clearly annoyed with me already.

    Not only is my body being heated but my face did too, I didn’t realize that he had the heat in high along with the seat warmer. I looked at myself and finally noticed I was engulfed in a coat far too big for me but it was incredibly warm. I shook my head violently. _No!_ I don’t need someone to give me a handout, I never have and I’m not starting now.

    “Let me out.” I demanded.

    “No.” his tone wasn’t one to argue with. Just like that, my rebellious ways were silenced. So I sat in silence, water dripping down various limbs and pooling on the floor and I’m certain on the seat as well. It was starting to get uncomfortable with all the water pooling towards my back and the bottom of the seat but I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t need to get scolded again for voicing my thoughts. So I just kept facing away from him, burying the lower half of my face into the liner of the coat. Runoff dripped onto the outer shell from my hair but it warmed my frigid face.

    The coat’s scent was hard to place. It was sweet but not overpowering. It was just very calming after everything that has happened. I shut my eyes for a moment, not really aware anymore of events that led to this. Breathing deeply, I felt like I was drifting off before my eyes snapped open once more, my face hot and not only from the heater. I didn’t look up at the driver, instead looking out the windshield to only see the storm and buildings light up from the headlights. I couldn’t recognize any of them or find any distinctive landmarks. I was more pissed off than scared that I need to ask _him_ where we are instead of figuring it out on my own.    

    “We’re in downtown, heading north until we’re in the residential district.” Blondie said matter-of-factly without me even asking.   
      “ _Blyat_.” I slipped into Russian for a moment. The northern residential is where all the CEOs, execs, plastic surgeons, and just about anyone who makes six figures lives. It’s full of assholes that’s for sure and now one of them is playing chauffeur to me.

    “Excuse me? Was that even a word?” he asked me.

    “Yeah, it’s Russian. Basically a universal cuss word” I explained, no point in hiding it from him.

    “How do you know that?” he seemed clueless.

    I sighed, “I’m _Russian_ , therefore I speak the language Mr. Master Race.” Not the most appropriate way to end a sentence but if I’m going to be in this car against my will, I’ll start messing with the bull. Almost immediately I felt a sharp sting on the back of my head. “ _Cyka!_ ” I turned to look at him, “I’ll sue your ass if you touch me again.” Let’s hope he doesn’t call my bluff.

    He scoffed, “Not until you pay back the 3 thousand dollars you owe me.” He never glanced my direction this whole time but I can see his smirk after he finished that sentence.

    When he said I owed him _three thousand_ fucking dollars it all clicked in my head. The car, the distinctive hair, the _Austrian accent._

    “You!” I shouted, “You Austrian fuck! I lost my job because of that debt! My left hand has puncture wounds now!” I shoved the bandaged hand in his face, “Look at what you have caused!”

    “I’m trying to _drive_ in a _storm!_ ” he shouted back, trying to keep his eyes on the road. He slammed on the brakes, sending me forward a few inches before the seatbelt locked. He turned to face me, as much as I wanted to get a better look of his face the current expression he wore was not one I wanted to be staring down at me. His eyes were a color I haven’t seen before. They were ice blue in coloring and right now they were just as cold and piercing as their namesake.

    “Do you _want_ to die?” he asked me, it was a rhetorical question, “If so then you can get out walk home in this storm. You don’t have anything to keep you even remotely dry so by the time you get home hypothermia would have already set in and that’s _if_ it doesn’t set in before you get there. So stop being so damned childish and wait to shove you mangled hand in my face until we arrive at my home.” his voice was that of a mother who threatened her children without raising her voice and it was _terrifying._ I sat in silence and compliance.

_***_

    We arrived after another half hour of riding in silence with the constant drumming of the raging storm outside the only sound to accompany us. He didn’t listen to the radio which I would have _killed_ for some sort of white noise to get rid of the silence but I didn't feel like pissing him off some more. Luckily, we weren't very far as he pointed out the building in in which he lives in. It even had it’s own parking structure that went underneath the building and apparently he had his own garage within the structure as if that didn’t show off how much money he had. But at least I didn’t have to step out in the rain and get soaked again. He already stepped out of the car while I struggled to shift his heavy coat that buried me the release for the seat belt. He opened my door for me and patiently waited, insisting I keep the coat on as the garage and lobby are always air conditioned.

    So there I was, walking next to the man who I owe an incredible amount of money to while I wear his coat that is several sizes too big for me. It’s sleeves went well past my hands and the hem ended mid thigh. It was embarrassing and I wouldn't be surprised if he thought this was funny. I was completely enveloped in the warm material and subsequent scent that I could place now that it was present for the time being. It had two obvious ones to me, cinnamon being the stronger of the two but a subtle pine needle scent gave it a very unique aroma. I allowed myself one deep breath and picked up one last, very faint scent. _Shaving cream._

    I was focused on the scents that I hadn’t noticed we had entered the elevator, left alone with him once more. I looked to the panel with all the buttons and saw we were going all the way to the top floor. I looked at him, really I had to look _up_ at him. He was a giant compared to me.

    “Jesus Christ.” I whispered, “With all that Aryan blood in you, no wonder you’re so goddamned tall.” I kept antagonizing him.

    “I’m six-foot, seven-inches. It runs in the family, not that you would know, judging by _your_ height. And please, stop using Aryan. I'm not German. I have name by the way.”

    “So do I but I don’t hear you using it either.” I retorted, looking away from him again. I could hear him sigh.

    “Let me properly introduce myself then. I’m Franz Rosenthral. I’m Austrian born, speak German fluently, and I have dual citizenship. I’m thirty and I’m the head of Deacon Industries, named after my grandfather.”

    I knew who he was, everyone does. The company he owns and runs is one of the largest in the city. It’s roots are everywhere. From creating new technology, electronics, science, the military. Hell, it even has it’s own private security firm it hires out to other companies and people who need that kind of muscle. And there I was, a dirt poor twenty-six year old who works in a nightclub as a waiter and at this point a fucking _stripper._ I balled up my fist, nails digging into my palm, one of the most successful people in the country is standing next to me, actually talking to me, and taking me to where he lives. I felt so insignificant standing next to him. I’m a goddamned loser and yet I had the unfortunate luck to vomit on him.

    I pinched the bridge of my nose and looked back at him, “Niko Petrov. Twenty-six, born to Russian immigrants and I speak it fluently. I’m a waiter at Adam and Eve.” I didn’t see a point in lying. I waited for his response but his piercing ice blue eyes stared down at me. It made me uncomfortable. I noticed more about him as his gaze sent a chill down my spine. His skin was olive in color, he got out a lot I could tell and took care of his skin. His hair was also platinum in color and he wore it in a high and tight ponytail but it was definitely longer than mine.

    “Just take a photo instead of just staring at me like a creep.”

    He shook his head, almost like he didn’t mean to stare, “Sorry, it’s just your eyes. I’ve never seen a color like yours. I couldn’t help but admire them.” He covered up his embarrassment by acting suave as hell which, did work as I quickly looked away, not knowing my bangs had revealed my eye color. I tried to style them again so those damn things were obscured when the elevator dinged and he led me off. I had to break out into a jog to keep pace with his long strides until we reached two heavy wooden doors.

    “I assume you’ve never been a penthouse, correct?’ he asked like he needed to.  
    “I live in 452 square feet. Does that sound like I’ve even thought of a penthouse?” I replied with sarcasm.

    “Point taken.” He unlocked the doors and waved his arm, telling me to go in.

    You know those scenes in movies where they open the doors to something elaborate or fantastical? With golden light pouring in and harmonic singing? Those scenes? Well that’s what it felt like when Franz opened those doors. Minus all the singing but there were _lights._ Oh God where there lights. I felt like I needed sunglasses since his floors were damned polished making the lights even brighter. I walked to the middle of what I can only assume lead to all the other sections of this palace. I looked down at the floors, seeing that they were _marble._

    “I’m walking on more money I’ve ever made in my entire life.” I said both in awe and in a dejected tone. I looked at this man and with all seriousness asked, “How do you _not get lost?_ ”     

    He laughed and as far as I could tell, _genuinely._ “When I first moved in, I did and I needed someone to send me the floor plans to my phone. I still use it when I forget where certain closets are.” He flashed a smile towards me before he instructed me to follow him. It was a very quick smile, but I could tell it wasn't a faked one. I followed close behind, I don't want to get lost in this place. We only went down two hallways, each lined with different vanity items like paintings, articles, and magazine covers. “It’s faster if I have you shower in the master bath that’s for my bedroom instead of trying to send you to one of the guest bathrooms and get lost for two hours.” He said as he opened the door to his bedroom which was uncharacteristically Spartan. His bed was the biggest occupant with the wall mounted T.V. spanning an ungodly amount of space and then his dresser and closet on the left wall and two night stands with white lamps flanking the bed. The right wall was covered in photos from what looked like childhood to now. Not a single one had a caption in big, bold letters either.

    “Just go through the door at the end of the room. The one on the right, the left leads to a walk in. Leave your clothes outside of the bathroom and I’ll leave something for you to wear while your stuff gets cleaned.” And with that, he left me to my own devices in his _own room._ I don’t know why _Franz Rosenthral_ would trust me in here by myself. Probably because he doesn’t have anything important in here. Maybe his walk-in closet is a secret BDSM room. I laughed, I highly doubt this man would be into anything that could damage his reputation. So I left the closet and it’s contents of dress shirts and shoes alone. Before I went into the master bathroom, I stopped to look at the photos in the wall. What caught my eye was something I never thought I'd see. There was a portrait and in it he wore a USMC uniform. Next to it was the platoon photo for the graduating class and to the portraits right was a squad photo. I could tell this was taken while on deployment. It gave me something to think about before I went into the bathroom.

 

    This man’s shower is overly complicated. Not only does it not have a regular shower head, it’s simply a square attached to the _ceiling_ but it doesn’t have regular knobs either. Just a panel that I’m trying to figure out as the water coming down on me is either ice cold and sprinkling or boiling and jet streams. It took _ten minutes_ to figure out the ideal temperature and pressure setting. Now I needed to figure out which bottle out of the many is shampoo and conditioner.

    However, just being able to bathe after three days and being covered in food, dirty rainwater and sweat is a blissful experience. As gross as it sounds, feeling the grime run down my body is extremely satisfying. I continued to stand underneath the running water, just being absorbed by the feeling of warm, clean water revitalizing my body. My sore muscles started to feel better after three days of strain and bitter cold. I couldn’t stand like this forever though, and carried on with my shower. I had to use two huge handfuls of shampoo to get the stickiness from the syrup out of my hair and scalp, I wouldn’t doubt it if I irritated it with how rough I scrubbed. I just really wanted that shit out of my hair.

   My wounded hand did fairly well in the wet and soapy environment. I had one of those pad bandages to cover the rough stitches, luckily it was waterproof after I removed all the gauze to keep from clogging the drain. I did use one hand when I shampooed my hair though, I didn’t want to writhe in pain. Next I looked for the conditioner before I added it to my hair to try and restore it to its previous state after having syrup in it for the whole day. Again, one handed. Cleaning my body was the easiest part afterwards and I finished up showering. I was warm, right until my feet touched the tile flooring.

    I dried myself off and started to wring out my hair with a towel; using a second one to towel-dry my hair. It was still damp, but it wasn’t going to bother me with water dripping all over the place. And if you’re wondering _why_ I dried my hair like this is because I don’t know how to use a hair dryer. Ironic, I have long hair yet I never learned how to use that thing. I found a hairbrush and got to work on the tangled mess that is my hair before I stepped out back into the bedroom. It’s dim, hardwood floors weren’t cold like the bathroom tiles and the room itself was warm. I guess he turned on the heater.

    I approached the bed, seeing a sealed pack of briefs, undershirts, some oversized flannel pants and a large, grey pullover sweater. I dropped my towel and put on the under garments and the sweater. Again, I was hit with the scent of cinnamon and pine needles as I pulled it over my head. It was warm, not just in sense it kept you toasty but it was physically _warm._ Blondie must have thrown it in the dryer before leaving it here. I sat on the bed, opting out of the pajama pants as I usually sleep in my underwear. I walked around for a short while, exploring what little else there was in the room before shrugging and sitting on his bed.

    His bed is so _soft._ What the hell, it’s like sitting on a cloud. I pushed my hand into it, surprised at how firm it was too. His back must never hurt every morning. I brought my legs up onto the bed, adjusting the sweater so the scar on my upper right thigh was hidden from view. This bed is so incredibly comfortable. Franz would probably give me a guest room but it wouldn’t hurt to just lay here for a little. So, I laid down, resting my head on pillows made of happiness and rolled onto my side, curling slightly. I didn’t use the covers as I don’t plan on sleeping in _his bed._ But my body had other ideas, I only lied like this for a few moments before a tidal wave of exhaustion crashed down onto me.

    Three days with only a handful of hours of sleep between them coupled with several workloads and what happened today finally caught up with me. I tried to fight it but this was a losing battle. I couldn’t even lift my head up to try and increase blood flow, my body was just depleted and laying in this bed sealed my fate as I could feel my eyelids draw closer together and I fell asleep. And for the first time I didn’t -

_Dream._

**Author's Note:**

> Well, that's the first chapter for this. Any suggestions or comments are greatly appreciated as I know my writing isn't exactly the highest quality. So if I missed an error somewhere or something could be made clearer do tell as it helps me with the writing process. Hope this is something you've enjoyed and are willing to stick around for future chapters.


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